Rizzoli Noir
by athenian7656
Summary: A tale of Rizzles, set in the tone of a film noir. Dirty streets & dirty sheets.
1. Rebirth

It's raining, it's dark, it's night. Rizzoli's alone, sitting at her kitchen table amidst piles of case papers. She rolls a whiskey glass back and forth in one hand, taking sharp swallows now and then, absently drinking. The evidence in front of her doesn't get any clearer as she drinks, but she keeps doing it anyway, hoping for sleep at least.

Her wish is granted when her head starts to fall slowly towards the mess of papers. The whiskey tumbler falls from her fingertips to the floor, it's crash waking the detective from her reverie.

Rizzoli is not sleeping, nor is she too drunk to think, even if she wishes she were. Her height is lost on her slumped posture, her hair is a mane of tangles drawn into what just barely resembles a ponytail. Nobody from the department would have believed it until now, but Detective Jane Rizzoli felt entirely defeated.

The glass is everywhere, all over the documents she had gone to such efforts to get, and now precious evidence is beginning to smell like whiskey. She should probably clean it up, but then she should probably clean herself up, too.

Rizzoli stands up in her dark apartment, looks at the mess in front of her with a look like desperation, and goes in exactly the other direction as fast as she can.

The night is colder outside than in, as usual. She hunches into herself as much as possible, tries to fold up her long frame underneath an umbrella as she walks. Rizzoli's boots splash through the streets of Boston, their soles carry memories of blood.

Like a lighthouse lantern, the kitchen of the upper-middle class suburban house in front of her beckons Rizzoli closer. Her walks always bring her here, even now, when it's the last place she should be. From the dark corner she's hiding in, the house appears to loom over her, the light that pours out seems to be demanding a warmth Rizzoli just can't feel no matter where she is. She shivers.

There's a shadow in the kitchen. Someone turns a light on, and another shadow moves across the room. Rizzoli's fists clench unconsciously, she readies herself for a sprint with no consent from her brain. The woman in there is her life, and she knows that all too well now.


	2. Salve

Jane hunches there in the shadows until her thighs begin to burn. It's useless, she's tired, she can barely remember why she's there. The darkness seems to crowd out her thoughts of Maura and whatever man is with her tonight, it leaves Jane restless, she feels itchy on the inside, like if she doesn't move or scream or something she might die right there. This pounding in her chest, why does it grow so loud when she thinks of Maura? She is safe without Jane, maybe even safer than when they were always together.

The last few weeks were hell. Jane knows somethin larger is up, but she can't tell what. Everything seems to be part of a giant puzzle, but she's too close to it to gain any perspective. Jane sighs, stands reluctantly, and pushes herself off into the night again.

The bar is closing, but the owners of The Dirty Robber know the detective well enough to open the doors for her. It's too late for more than a shot of whiskey, but a girl brings her coffee with it, and Jane wonders if she looks as worn out as she feels. It's been a long time since she has glanced in the mirror. It's hard to look herself in the eyes right now.

The chairs squeal against the hardwood as the girl stacks them on abandoned tables, the last remnants of a night at the bar swept up and discarded while Jane watches. The girl is in her early twenties, she looks sad. "what's your name?", Jane asks her. The girl is startled, she didn't expect this woman to talk to her, let alone express interest in her.

"Um, Sarah, you?" the waitress manages to whisper just loudly enough for Jane's keen sense of hearing to pick up. "Detective Jane Rizzoli, at your service. Well, I guess you're kinda at my service right now, aren't you?".

The girl laughs as she knows she is expected to, but she's nervous. The bar is always crawling with police officers, sure, but none of them have as intense a gaze as this one. Plus, Jane Rizzoli is a detective, much more official than most of the rowdy guys she serves. This woman at the bar, she's different, and Sarah knows it.

"Come here", Jane pats the one barstool left next to her, the others already upside down on the bar for the night. Sarah squirms in discomfort, but she does as she is told. The stool is a comfort after a long third day of her new job. In fact, Sarah realizes, she hasn't sat down at the bar once before now. James face is inscrutable, she must be great at poker.

"It's been a while since I've been in this place. How long've you been working here?" Jane asks, she tries to stir up some interest in anything other than the thoughts of Maura and the man at her house, tries to take interest in this girl as she answers. It's hard to pay attention, though, Jane watches the girl as she licks her lips, obviously nervous. Now Jane is curious, she wonders what this girl is hiding. Everyone hides something.

"Hey, I'm getting tired, I'll let you close up, alright?" Jane interrupts the girl suddenly. Maura has slipped back into her train of thought, and Jane is suddenly exhausted again. Maybe it's the whiskey, or maybe it's the fact that she hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Sarah thanks her, and Jane slips off into the night again.

When she gets back to her desolate kitchen, the detective sees for the first time the clutter of her madness. The papers soggy with her spilled liquor stink, the ink runs across pages. Jane sits with them anyway, she's given up the idea of sleeping tonight already, she's remembered a face far too familiar.

It's Sarah, alright. The girl peers out at Jane from one of the soggy documents. How did she end up in this pile of evidence about Doyle? Jane picks up the paper again, squints at the typeface next to Sarah's picture, but it's too smeared to read now. The liquor has blurred the words past recognition. Jane falls asleep that way, finally, her hand rests gently on Sarah's face.

When Jane wakes, it's morning. The job waits for her return, but she can barely stand to struggle into the shower. The apartment smells so bad that she gags as she puts away what little of the evidence is not ruined. Jane pulls on the least disgusting work clothes she can find and stumbles into the bright sun.

The office is pretty empty, but it's cool and dark, perfect for Jane at the moment. Frost meanders in, a cheerful grin across his pretty face. "What's going on, Rizzoli? You look like shit", he asks as he sits down at his desk. "Gee, thanks, pal", Jane tries to muster up a laugh, but it comes out like a strangled cough. Frost shoots her a quizzical look, but her badly faked smile scares his eyes back to the papers on his desk.

"What are we doing today?", Jane asks in an effort to sound interested in her job again. The thought of Maura downstairs in the morgue distracts her as usual. If only they could just talk again somehow.

"Just like that, huh? You're back in the game again?" Frost asks. "Nothing else to do", Jane answers truthfully, at least nothing else she should be doing.

"We've got another murder at the docks. Young man by the name of Colin DeMarco, Italian dude, probably small-time mafia", Frost is obviously excited, so Jane tries to meet him half-way. "Sounds like we should go find some possible suspects", Jane pushes herself up from the desk, and resists the urge to just turn and go down in the elevator right now. It's hard to be in the same building as Maura and do nothing, it's a constant temptation, so she may as well go somewhere else.

"Look, I hate to have to ask, but are you cleared for duty?" Frost is obviously terrified and embarrassed to ask Jane this question, but she's not mad at him, she expects it. "Yeah, don't worry, I've talked to the boss", she answers him truthfully. If 'talking to the boss' meant a rude phone call from him two days ago demanding she return to work immediately, which of course she hadn't done.

As they leave the building, Jane sees Maura pull up in a red Mercedes, not her silly looking hybrid. "What the hell?" Jane mutters to herself. "Hmmm?" Frost responds, then looks over to see Maura, and knows better than to follow up on it. Jane pretends not to see Maura, not to hear him, and she keeps her eyes on the patrol car as they walk towards the true beginning of their day.

The docks are cold from the sea breeze. Not too many people around today, Jane notices. Usually workers bustle about, even in the cold weather. The sun reflects brilliantly off of metal, straight into her bloodshot eyes, which causes Jane to blink and wince, to shield her eyes as much as possible. Frost knows better than to ask if she's hungover, he can see it all over her face, even if he's not entirely sure why.

Jane strides up to the chalk outline on the floor of the tiny warehouse they've entered. The medical examiner and forensics team must have already been here, so why are they? She looks at Frost quizzically and he shrugs, "guess we got here a little late. I'll call and see what's going on". As he talks to someone at headquarters on his cell phone, Jane paces the small room. It's like a box, stifles her, makes her feel like she can't breathe. Normally this kind of thing doesn't get to her, but then again, nothing right now is normal.

Her intuition leads her to the corner diagonal from the chalk outline of the victim. A small pink ribbon, the kind they give out for breast cancer awareness, lies discarded on the cold floor. Jane forgets her gloves, bends down to pick it up. Something about breast cancer is in the back of her head, but she can't remember what, only feels the small tickle of recognition in her nape and back as it travels down her spine.

"Got something over here", Jane puts her hands square on her knees and pushes herself back up, she turns to Frost with the ribbon in hand.

"Hey, Rizzoli, where are your gloves?" Frost has never reprimanded Jane before, but he can't help the words that come out of his mouth. He shuts up quickly as he sees Jane's eyes narrow at his exclamation. "Right, you're right", Jane just lets the ribbon float to the ground carelessly, a sarcastic but honest gesture. Really, this case is nothing to her, as long as its not related to Maura, she could care less.

"You need a break?" Frost asks, as he finally truly sees Jane's weariness and disinterest so clearly drawn across her face. He's not a bad detective, but he's not used to Jane this way, either. They all have bad days, the job isn't easy, even if you love it (or especially if you do). Their team, Jane, Korsak, and Frost, they all love their jobs, but what sets them apart from the rest of the force is that they're not cold from it. Sure, they try to stay light-hearted in the face of the misery they witness, but jokes can only go so far.

Jane considers Frost's question for a moment, but she shakes her head 'no' and pulls on some gloves, gets out an evidence bag, and places the pink ribbon inside of it. Frost notices worry in Jane's creased brow, he thinks it is because if the evidence foul.

"I'm sure it's fine, Maura will find something on that thing, even with your prints on it", he tries to reassure the detective, but immediately sees that he has said exactly the wrong thing, as Rizzoli can't hide a look of pain that quickly passes over her face. "Right", she says, and closes the bag with a finality Frost finds slightly disturbing somehow. It's like she's given up on this case before they've begun it.

Back at headquarters, Jane is able to easily convince Frost to take the evidence down to the morgue. If she can't meet her own eyes in the mirror, Jane knows she would want to die if she had to look into Maura's. The homicide department is chock full of people now, witnesses, criminals, and officers busy with their daily lives, some of them content, some of them chased by demons like herself. Jane taps a pen against her leg, leans into her computer screen, and gets an idea.

That night at home at her kitchen table again, Jane searches through the stack of print-outs she made at work. There was a lot more on Doyle than she had thought. Years of investigations, multiple homicides mysteriously left behind cold and unsolved, but somehow still in the system. It's stuff like this that makes Jane wonder about her fellow officers. She knows why she would leave Doyle alone, but it's probably for a very different reason than the officers before her had. Her reason is Maura, but that's also why she has to know more about Doyle, about who he is really, and what he's done.

The guilt is eating her up from the inside. Maybe she's fooling herself to think she's looking into Doyle for any reason other than to rid herself of it. The look on Maura's face haunts her constantly, and she feels an anger she thought was as at Doyle before, but realizes now is at herself. What could she have done, though?

Dean. She hates him more than herself, maybe. He's the one who put all of this in motion, made her pull that trigger, became a helpless child dependent on Jane's gun. Sometimes she thinks it was jealousy that drove him to come to the warehouse and put them all in such a precarious position.

The thing about writing is that we each have a distinctive style. It's not as obvious or reliable as DNA or a fingerprint, it's subtler, but Jane knows how to see it. She's trained for it her whole life, after all.

Something about these reports smacks of Agent Dean, something about the words on the pages resembles his speech patterns, the writing she's seen of his before. She imagines his voice saying the words, and knows somehow that it was him. She needs to clear her head, shakes it, then wants a drink like never before.

The whiskey bottles in her sink are dry from the past weeks, and she's not quite desperate enough to suck the leftover liquid from the previous evidence files she absconded with. It's late, but the Robber should still be open for another hour. Jane puts on a leather jacket she hasn't worn in months, a gift from Maura she's avoided even looking at recently. It feels soft against her skin, reminds her of Maura's hair, the silkiness of it. Jane strokes the leather absently as she stomps down the street towards the bar.

It's just her, the bartender, and that Sarah girl again. Seems like everyone's been clearing out early as winter approaches. The Robber is often packed at this hour, but everyone must be home trying to keep warm tonight, maybe with family, friends, lovers. Jane lets her body weight fall unto the same stool she sat on last night, waits for Sarah to come over, the bartender distracted with drying freshly washed cups behind the bar.

"Hey there", Sarah seems much more self-assured today. She must be getting used to the job, Jane thinks. "Slow tonight?" Jane asks. Sarah cocks her head a little to the side. "Yeah, we had a birthday party this evening, everyone cleared out early to go to a dance club or something", Sarah looks around, "don't think this was their scene, more of a clubbing crowd".

Jane feels An unexpected chuckle climb up her throat. She shakes her head, "didn't know what they were getting into, hmm?" Jane asks. Sarah shakes her head, mimicking Jane's body language. "Nah, I think the narcotics officers trying to get drinks during the party scared them off. Can I get you something?" Sarah asks politely.

"Whiskey, neat, same as before", the detective answers. It's nice and cool and dark, perfect for her state of mind right now. Jane watches as Sarah fills her glass with a top shelf whiskey. "Hey, I didn't ask for something that fancy", Jane mutters in Sarah's general direction. "Oh, well, this one is on me", Sarah says as she brings the glass over and gives Jane a kind look. She's intimidated by the detective, but not nearly as much as she was yesterday.

"You having anything?" Jane asks. The bartender looks up and smiles at Sarah, "no one is here, go ahead if you want", he says as he smiles at the two women. He's known Jane a while now, never seen her like this before, and is grateful that the new girl has managed to make the detective smile again.

Sarah is obviously impressed by Jane's sway over the man, and surprised that she is being treated with such kindness. In fact, everyone here has been pretty nice to her since she started job, and she's still getting used to the way that feels. Jane notices the strange look on her face, studies her for a moment, tries to see the sad looking girl in the picture she has at home. It is her alright, but the smile is a big change. Why was she so sad before? Jane curses herself for spilling the drink on those damn papers.

"Okay, thanks!" Sarah says, she pours herself some whiskey as well and plops down at the bar in the stool right next to Jane. The detective isn't used to anyone being in such close proximity to her other than Maura, but it feels nicer than she expected. For the first time in a while, Jane doesn't feel so alone.

Five drinks later, Sarah is practically melting into the floor. She doesn't want Jane to notice, but it's probably too late for that. The detective is generally able to hold her liquor fairly well, but the combination of weeks of restless attempts at sleep and whiskey have created within her a tidal wave of emotion she'd like to chalk up to the alcohol alone.

Jane rubs her gifted jacket again, the soft leather now reminds her of Maura's skin as well. They've only really touched a few times for more than a second, but those moments are etched boldly into Jane's memory. Being a detective means Jane has to remember a lot of things well, but right now she'd prefer to not have a memory at all (hence, the alcohol).

The thought brings Jane's attention back to her drink and the girl next to her. Sarah isn't quite slurring yet, but she's getting there. A wave of protectiveness comes over Jane as she notices Sarah's level of inebriation. She interrupts whatever tangent Sarah has been delivering unto deaf ears.

"How're you getting home?" the detective asks. Sarah thinks for a moment, glances at the bartender, who looks up and smiles with a shrug, "sorry, kid, I gotta stay late and do the taxes. Can't give you a ride this time. Maybe you have some water, sober up a bit..." he apologizes. Sarah's previously cheerful face grows troubled, more troubled than seems warranted.

Before she realizes what she's saying, Jane offers Sarah a ride home. The bartender raises an eyebrow at Jane and at her glass, he knows when she's had a little too much, and Jane is more grateful than annoyed.

"I guess I probably shouldn't be driving either. I'll walk you, if you want. How far away is your place?" the detective offers. She doesn't know why she's being so nice, perhaps it's her loneliness, or maybe the alcohol. The document on her kitchen table was forgotten a couple of drinks ago, although had she thought of it, her curiosity might have been a good excuse.

"I live thirty minutes out of town by car. I couldn't possibly ask you to walk that whole way with me", Sarah seems flustered by everyone's concern for her, she is not used to so much attention. Jane can tell she's nervous, the girl plays with her hands in her lap and looks down at them while she does so.

"Want me to call you two a taxi?" asks the bartender, as he finishes putting back the last of the glasses for the night. It's getting late, he'd really like to start on those taxes, but he doesn't want to encourage drunk driving. He's not too worried about the detective, but the new girl seems kind of naive.

Jane applies with an affirmative and excuses herself as the sudden urge to release her bladder overcomes her. Maybe she didn't need that sixth whiskey, she thinks, as she sways towards the bathroom, it's a good thing the bartender is looking out for them.

As she washes her hands, Jane lets herself glance in the mirror. Her eyes are shrouded in dark shadows that she knows Maura would have fussed over, would have gently applied some sort of strange paste to while Jane sat as patiently as possible just to feel Maura's fingertips occasionally brush against her skin.

She turns the water to cold and splashes it liberally all over her face. Rizzoli manages not to get too much of it on the rest of her, but it doesn't really seem to help much. Some girl in the next room waits for Jane to save her, and she's not sure that she's up for the job.

As she walks back towards the bar, Jane notices that Sarah is gone. "Where'd she go?" she asks the bartender, who now strains his eyes over a thick stack of tax documents. "Went outside, said she needed some cold air", he answers distractedly. He doesn't look up as Jane walks out the door.

She sees Sarah on the curb, the girl faces the wind, lets her hair be blown back by the breeze. It's beautiful, heart-wrenchingly so. Jane almost doesn't want to disturb her, but the taxi does the job for her anyway as it screeches up to a halt in front of them. Sarah opens her eyes at the noise, looks around like she's lost for a minute, and sees Jane behind her.

"Ready?" Jane asks. Sarah nods solemnly, her mood distinctly different from what it was an hour ago. She seems nervous, but resigned. They shove themselves into the taxi and Jane politely offers that they drop Sarah off first. The nervous energy that pours off of Sarah comes in a flood now, as she protests under a shallow guise of politeness easily seen through by the experience worn detective.

"You don't want to get home?" Jane realizes some part of her hopes the waitress doesn't want to go home, would rather accompany Jane back to her apartment, and Jane just doesn't know what to think of that at all.

Sarah bites her lip, shakes her head 'no'. An unconscious smile tugs at the corners of Jane's mouth as she instructs the taxi to drive them both to her place. Usually she would question the girl's hesitancy to go home, but right now all she wants is distraction.

By the time they get into the somewhat stiflingly warm apartment they're both sober enough to feel a little strange about the situation. Jane offers to drive the girl home in the morning, but Sarah insists that she will go straight to work, it's no problem. Jane cocks her head, but shrugs in response, it's her choice.

The couch is covered in a gazillion different things Jane has forgotten to put away since Maura has been absent. Usually, she cleans up so she won't get a lecture from the medical examiner, or her mother, who Jane has been avoiding as much as possible recently.

Jane looks at Sarah apologetically, "sorry, I just need to put this stuff away, hold on". The detective moves to make a giant sweeping motion that would send everything to the floor in one swipe, but Sarah stops her.

"I know it's kind of a weird thing to ask, since we just met, but...do you think I could sleep in your bed tonight?" Sarah manages to get out in a timid voice. Jane doesn't know what to think, she's not even sure how they got to this point, but she's really too tired to question it. The thought of a warm body next to her is somehow very appealing at the moment, despite her usual fear of physical closeness.

"Well, I guess so. This whole thing is kind of weird anyway, right?" Jane leads the girl to her bedroom, throws her some basketball shorts and an a-shirt, and heads to the bathroom to change.

By the time she's returned, Sarah is snuggled up in Jane's bed. Somehow, the sght pleases the detective immensely, draws her to the bed as well. As Jane pulls the covers up around her, she feels Sarah's cold toes brush her leg. "You're freezing", Jane whispers in a low growl.

"I'm okay", the girls whispers back. This reminds Jane of her sleepovers with Maura, their giggling in bed together, the whispers of secrets easier voiced in the dark by both women. Jane feels a sudden urge to call Maura, and mutes it by indulging a different urge instead. The detective gently pulls Sarah into her arms, lets their bodies touch as much as possible, and surprises herself when she enjoys the sensation.

Rather than expressing discomfort with this, as part of Jane worried she might, Sarah seems to relax into Jane. Her body is soft and warm against Jane's torso. Sarah is petite like Maura, and Jane has to make an effort not to think about what it would be like to hold Maura this way. She's come close, watched Maura sleep a few times, but could neveup work up the courage to do what she's done in such a small amount of time with this girl.

The detective turns her attention back to the body in her arms, lightly strokes the soft skin under the young woman's ribs. There is a spark there, not like Jane feels with the medical examiner, but definitely present. She can feel Sarah's breathing slow down, deepen a little, as they both let out a sigh and fall into slumber that way.

When Jane wakes she finds her bed much colder than it was the night before. The waitress is nowhere to be seen. Jane remembers something, gets up with a start, and sprints into the kitchen.

She finds Sarah at the kitchen table. Sarah holds in her hands a piece of paper, but her eyes are unfocused. She's been crying, weeping really, and her eyes are swollen with the effort.

"Why do you have this?" Sarah chokes out. Jane doesn't know what to say. "I'm a detective, I was reading some evidence files, your picture was there. I didn't know ahead of time you'd be in them", Jane tries to explain, but it doesn't seem to satisfy the girl. The truth rarely satisfies anyone.

"Look, honestly, I don't even know anything more about you. That picture is all I've got. I spilled something on the rest of the papers, so I have no idea why it's even in there", Jane tries to ease Sarah's mind with this, but it doesn't seem to work. She sits down at the table and covers Sarah's hand with her own, looks her straight in the eyes.

"As long as you didn't commit any crimes, whatever is going on with you isn't my business. Now, if you have something you'd like to tell me, that's okay too", Jane leaves the invitation out there, as she often does with witnesses she likes.

Sarah simply sniffles, shakes her head gently. "I promise, I haven't committed any crimes, but can we not talk about it right now?" Sarah pleads with Jane, her face clearly shows a deep pain Jane would honestly rather not touch at the moment, she has so much of her own.

In fact, the weight of everything seems to crash down on Jane right then, and before she knows it they are in a tight embrace. What starts out as a hug becomes the two of them clinging to one and another for dear life as they both cry silently into each other's shoulders.

Embarassed at her out of character display of emotion, Jane pulls back. This girl seems to keep getting into parts of Jane she keeps locked up, away from even her own prying eyes.

As Jane turns her head away, Sarah takes her chin gently in one hand, pulls her face back towards her own. "Thank you", she whispers, and brushes her lips lightly against Jane's.

It is achingly soft, the kiss. It's like falling asleep, and Jane leans forward without intending to. She's hungry for this girl's affection, almost as hungry as she has been for Maura's. This girl doesn't scare her, though, Jane knows she has the upper hand, so she lets her fears slide away from her and indulges in the moment.

Sarah breathes harder, Rizzoli can practically feel the young woman's pulse in her tongue. Eager to be closer to the consistent rhythm, Jane pulls her towards herself with a hand on the small of Sarah's back.

Now they're both breathing hard, caught up in a moment neither of them expected. A flash of Maura's face, her lips forming complicated words as Jane memorizes their shape, runs through Jane's mind. She stops for a moment, and Sarah senses her sudden reluctance immediately.

It is suddenly awkward. Sarah begins to apologize, as if Jane had no part in the kiss. While the detective wouldn't mind playing along, she can't bear the look of fear and rejection that now plays across Sarah's delicate face. God, she's beautiful, Jane realizes, and catches herself before she can begin to compare her to Maura. Jane knows Maura would win any contest if Jane were the judge, so the thought is not only wrong, but completely unfair.

"Hey, don't freak out on me. I wanted to do that just as much as you did", Jane manages to ease the girl's fears even as she feels the import of her own words. She's just kissed a girl, a girl she barely knows, who slept in her bed last night. Jane liked it, and she wants more, and she had no idea what that means.

It's too late, though. Sarah already begins to gather her things, make excuses for her sudden need to leave. Before she knows it, Jane is left alone again in her kitchen, only the evidence in front of her for company, once again.

After a quick cold shower, Jane leaves for work. She shakes her head as she pushes open the doors to the Boston Police Department building, tries to clear her thoughts of kissing women from her already confusing collection of mysteries. She's so confused, and it's too much at once. How can she concentrate on anything right now, let alone the case she's supposed to be investigating?

Frost, on the other hand, is obviously excited about this one. He's got that eager smile on his face, so pleased with himself that even Jane in her distraction can't help but find it slightly infectious. It's always good when one of them is excited about a case, one partner's mood can carry the less enthusiastic one of them along.

"What's up? You look like you just found Charlemagne's crown", Jane says as she eases herself down unto Frost's crowded desk. Frost isn't too pleased as Jane casually sweeps aside of his precious "toys" and papers, but he just grimaces and moves on.

"We got something on that ribbon you found. Other than your fingerprints, that is", Frost shoots Jane an amused look, which Jane knows wouldn't be on his face if her fingerprints were all they had found.

"Well, are you going to fill me in or what?" Jane prods her partner forward.


End file.
